


Lazy Days

by RavenGrey



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Established Relationship, John is exhausted, M/M, Rimming, Sherlock is impatient
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-22
Updated: 2013-01-22
Packaged: 2017-11-26 10:21:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,203
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/649535
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RavenGrey/pseuds/RavenGrey
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock is insatiable and John is tired. So a compromise is made.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Lazy Days

             Four weeks into their relationship and Sherlock had run John ragged, in the best of ways. Sherlock had taken it upon himself to christen almost every available surface in the flat and then some, not that John was complaining. Yet. Halfway through that fourth week John started to lose some of Sherlock’s apparently endless enthusiasm. It wasn’t that he didn’t enjoy sex with Sherlock, because God knows he did, it was just that he was almost forty and not quite what he’d used to be. And Sherlock was nearly insatiable, with a recovery time that honestly baffled John. Minutes after he’d be ready for another go and John was having some difficulties keeping up, not for a lack of trying.

 

             He rarely slept in his own bed and when he slept in Sherlock’s almost no actual sleeping got done. So when he’d woken up on his day off, at nine in the morning, he’d looked blearily around for Sherlock and upon not finding him had dropped his face back into the pillow. While he missed the warmth of Sherlock’s body, he wasn’t overly concerned, Sherlock had the habit of disappearing and John wasn’t bothered. In fact, he was downright chuffed by the fact that he got to have a lie-in and nuzzled his face into his pillow before stealing Sherlock’s. Slipping Sherlock’s pillow between his knees, John curled in on himself and went back to sleep. 

 

            He woke up again, on his own, sometime around eleven and lay warm and content in the nest of blankets he’d made for a few blissful minutes. When he’d woken up a bit more he stumbled out of bed, wincing slightly at the soreness in his back side, and had gone to scrounge together some breakfast.

 

            After breakfast and a shower he snatched up a book he’d been meaning to read off the shelve and a cup of tea and he’d retreated to his room. Once he’d opened the windows to let a bit of a breeze in and sprawled out on his stomach, he settled in to read. Somewhere between the first page and the forty second John had started to absently kick his feet. Sherlock had come home right about that time, breaths coming quickly and his eyes full of wicked determination. He closes their door behind him and swiftly removes his scarf, shucking his coat off neatly after and depositing them on the couch. John thinks he hears the door open and close faintly, but just keeps on reading.

 

            Noting that John is in neither the kitchen nor the living room, Sherlock quickly checks his room, eyes narrowing slightly as he takes in the position of his pillow, lying dejectedly on John’s side. He gives an irritable huff and cuts his eyes to the staircase leading to John’s room, mild irritation giving way to unabashed arousal as his mind fills with the endless list of things he’d like very much to do to John. Deciding to act upon at least three of those things, Sherlock makes his way stealthily up the stairs and stops once he reaches John’s bedroom door.

 

            He turns the door knob quickly and opens the door wide enough for him to slip inside, noting but disregarding the way John tenses when he enters the room. He closes the door behind him and strides across the room, settling himself on John’s bed with ease. John doesn’t even look up after discerning that, yes; it was Sherlock who’d just barged in like he owned the place. “Hello Sherlock, yeah, sure, just come on in.” John says flippantly, still not looking up as Sherlock perches in front of him, all lithe muscle and long legs. He can feel Sherlock’s eyes on his skin, eager and bright, and chances a look up.

 

            His breath catches at what he finds, Sherlock’s skin flushed and his pupils widening as he looks at John. He doesn’t say anything, but John’s grown accustomed to the look of lust in Sherlock’s eyes and knows just what Sherlock plans on. “No, absolutely not, I could barely walk this morning. No.” John grumps, voice firm. Sherlock arches an eyebrow and leans forward, lips parted. “When I’m finished with you, you won’t be able to walk tomorrow morning, either.” Sherlock purrs out, his face dangerously close to John’s. Sherlock’s breath is hot against John’s skin and he shudders, squashing down the spike of arousal that hits him hard in the gut.

 

             He does his best to appear disinterested, keeping his eyes on the page and breaking eye contact hastily. He’d already said no and wasn’t about to let Sherlock grow accustomed to getting his way.

 

            Even if he usually did, one way or another. “Right, well, no.” John’s voice rasps a little and he clears his throat, eyes scanning over the words of the page without taking them in. Sherlock’s lips curl downwards into a pout and John snorts in amusement, leveling a flat look at Sherlock. The look on Sherlock’s face is considering and heated and John resists the urge to squirm uncomfortably under Sherlock’s gaze. _“John.”_ Sherlock moans out, slipping closer, his lips centimeters from John’s reddening ear.

 

             When John doesn’t rise immediately he huffs out an impatient breath and splays his fingers over the pages of John’s book, “Come on then, get up.” A pause, followed by a dangerous grin “Or don’t, that position could work very well for me.” Sherlock states flippantly. John shivers, the words causing heat the flare in his belly, Sherlock’s hands preventing him from reading. “Quite the charmer, aren’t you?” John comments tartly, settling himself more firmly on his stomach. “John.” Sherlock’s voice is impatient and he extends his legs so they bracket John’s prone form.

 

             John heaves an exasperated sigh and closes his book, setting it carefully to the side. Triumph dawns on Sherlock’s face and John takes extreme delight in crushing it when he issues the growled command of “Strip.” Sherlock’s breath catches and confusion slips over his face. After a moments hesitation, Sherlock rises and does just that, and quickly, until he stands stark naked before John. Sherlock is hard, completely exposed to the cool air of the room and John’s roving eyes.

 

             John scoots back to make room for Sherlock and then stays perfectly still as he scrambles back onto the bed, his cock bobbing with his movements. Sherlock’s hands reach for him, eager, and he lazily grabs Sherlock by the wrists, leaning in close to growl his next command in Sherlock’s ear. “On your stomach.” Sherlock looks positively mutinous for a few seconds before he complies. “I honestly don’t see how this is going to amount to-” Sherlock gripes, his cock pinned against his stomach. “Oh shut up and turn around.” John cuts him off, resting his face against his palms while he waits for Sherlock to move. The look Sherlock gives him can only be described as malevolent. John tilts his head when Sherlock doesn’t move “Do remember yesterday,” his voice is soft and pleasant, if not a little breathy “when I let you take me three times after you came rather spectacularly down my throat?”

 

             Sherlock’s sucks in a hard breath, eyes going half-lidded, and does as he’s told. Smiling to himself, John rises up off his elbows and presses a kiss against the freckle at the base of Sherlock’s spine. He brushes his tongue over it, dragging his fingers down the back of Sherlock’s thigh. John presses his knee between Sherlock’s thighs, hands moving to grip either sides of Sherlock’s ribcage while he peppers kisses over the freckles of Sherlock’s back.

 

             Sherlock arches under his hands and wriggles impatiently. John’s hands tighten, fingers splayed over the pale skin while he presses his knee pointedly against Sherlock’s balls. Sherlock gasps and pushes back against John’s knee, only to have John move it back out of his range. “John _, please_.” Sherlock bites out, his hands fisting in the sheets while he grinds into the sheets. “Patience, Sherlock.” John chides, dragging his nails lightly over Sherlock’s skin, taking his time. “I’ve not time for patience, get on with it.” Sherlock snaps, unclenching a hand and moving to grip himself.

 

             “You’ll make time for patience or we won’t be having sex for at least two weeks.” John offers mildly, the freckle on Sherlock’s left arse cheek catching his attention. He presses an open mouthed kiss to it even as Sherlock freezes beneath him. “You don’t mean that.” Sherlock says cockily, even though his hand doesn’t move from where it’s frozen and he’s breathing heavily. “Oh but I do.” John’s hands slide down to grip Sherlock’s hips, his fingers sliding over the light dip.

 

             Sherlock’s lips purse and he presses back against the heat of John’s mouth, a surprised sound leaving him when John’s tongue drags over the curve of his bum. John grins and dips his tongue between Sherlock’s arse-cheeks. Sherlock arches so dramatically against him that John finds his face buried in Sherlock’s full arse. When Sherlock relaxes against the sheets John smiles lazily and murmurs quietly “If you touch yourself, even if it is just a little, I won’t let you fuck me two whole weeks.” John moves his hands so he has two handfuls of bum and drags his tongue down the seam of Sherlock’s arse.

 

             Sherlock presses desperately back against John’s tongue, practically keening as he seeks more pressure. He just barely catches John’s words and nods his head frantically, hands clenching in the sheets. John pulls his head back, fingers digging hard into the soft skin of Sherlock’s arse. “I need an answer, Sherlock.” John’s voice is a low growl and he scours his nails down the curves of Sherlock’s arse. “I w-won’t touch myself.” Sherlock gasps out, embarrassment flooding his tone. Sherlock’s face is flushed a brilliant red and he pushes his hips back, desperate for John’s touch.

 

             John makes a pleased sound low in his throat and kisses the freckle that’s quickly becoming his favorite before parting Sherlock’s arse-cheeks and flicking his tongue over Sherlock’s entrance. Sherlock moans loudly, bucking into the sheets when John’s tongue slides hotly over him. John hums low in his throat, his cock aching fiercely from where it’s trapped against his stomach. Flattening his tongue, John drags it slowly against Sherlock once more before his dipping his tongue just past Sherlock’s tight ring of muscle.

 

             Sherlock keeps up a steady stream of whimpers and groans, pressing his hips back into John’s face. “ _Oh,_ oh _John_.” Sherlock wants so desperately to touch himself that his cock aches at the very thought of it, pre-come gathering on his tip while John thrusts his tongue deeper. “Like that, ah, fucking hell, _John_.” Each shuddering gasp of his name sends heat curling down his spine and he resists the urge to grind against the bed. Alternating between deep thrusts of his tongue inside of Sherlock and slow dragging licks over Sherlock’s entrance, John sets about the business of undoing Sherlock with his mouth.

 

             Sherlock is completely wrecked, his lips parted as he sucks in frantic, shallow breaths, his toes curling when John curves his tongue inside of him. His knuckles have gone white with the strain with which he clutches the sheet and he’ reduced to light, almost sobbing moans. John’s feet are kicking absently again and he squeezes Sherlock’s arse-cheeks hard, face buried in his arse while he drives Sherlock closer and closer to his release. Sherlock’s writhing grows more and more desperate as John increases his pace; slipping two finger in along side his thrusting tongue suddenly.

 

             Sherlock comes with a ragged cry, come painting his chest and the sheet beneath him. He curls in on himself while his orgasm rips through him and John moves quickly to wrap a hand around Sherlock’s shaft, stroking him through it. John’s other hand wraps tight round himself, still covered by his sleep pants, and he bucks into his hand, and after a few hard pulls he follows after Sherlock with a strained shout of his name. Come spills over his fingers and paints the inside of his trousers, his chest heaving as he draws ragged breaths.

 

             John collapses on Sherlock, trembling from aftershocks. Sherlock is shaking, his hands still fisted in the sheets and sweat clinging to every line of his body. John rolls over a little, off of Sherlock’s back, and narrowly avoids dumping himself onto the floor. Face to face with Sherlock, he kisses him sweetly and wraps his arms around Sherlock chest, pulling him close. Sherlock makes a confused sound, eyes opening long enough for him to nestle his face into the crook of John’s throat. “Worth the wait?” John mutters huskily, eyes half closed while he fits himself against Sherlock. Sherlock’s chest vibrates against John’s as he laughs, the sound managing to be both deep and breathy. “Very much so.” Sherlock agrees sheepishly, his lips moving over the sweaty skin of John’s throat.

 

             They stay like for some time, blissed out and peaceful, until Sherlock breaks the silence with a rumbled “Again.” It’s John’s turn to laugh, the sound full throated and he kisses the top of Sherlock’s head but makes no move to satisfy the insatiable man.


End file.
